


(Un)Requited

by Jenanigans1207



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, Hanahaki Disease, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pining, They're just stupid, hanahaki, requited feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-30 22:40:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21435859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenanigans1207/pseuds/Jenanigans1207
Summary: Keith sighed, closing his fist. He leaned his head back against the wall and let out a long groan. He had known he was crushing on Lance— how could he not? The boy was gorgeous, funny and so caring. He was the epitome of happiness and he had improved Keith's life exponentially since entering it. It was unreasonable to think Keith could come out of this without a crush. But that was all it was: a crush. Nothing more. Certainly not love.At least, he had done a good job convincing himself of that. Then he started coughing up the blue petals. Even after it happened the first time he convinced himself it wasn't love. But the more he seemed to deny it, the more petals he coughed up.Keith opened his fist and looked at the handful of blue petals. He closed his eyes and, finally, accepted the truth. He was in love with Lance. And his love was unrequited.-- Or:The (other) hanahaki fic that nobody asked me for.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 276





	(Un)Requited

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I've recently decided to start posting fics on instagram (same username as here if you're interested to check it out and read the fics before they're posted here!) which has spurred me to clean up my google docs and finishing some half-written fics I had sitting around.
> 
> This is one such fic! 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!!

Keith sighed, closing his fist. He leaned his head back against the wall and let out a long groan. He had known he was crushing on Lance— how could he  _ not _ ? The boy was gorgeous, funny and so caring. He was the epitome of happiness and he had improved Keith's life exponentially since entering it. It was unreasonable to think Keith could come out of this without a crush. But that was all it was: a crush. Nothing more. Certainly not love. 

At least, he had done a good job convincing himself of that. Then he started coughing up the blue petals. Even after it happened the first time he convinced himself it wasn't love. But the more he seemed to deny it, the more petals he coughed up. 

Keith opened his fist and looked at the handful of blue petals. He closed his eyes and, finally, accepted the truth. He was in love with Lance. And his love was unrequited. 

“Keith?” a knock sounded on the bathroom door. “You okay?” 

He could hear the concern in Lance's voice and winced. What was he supposed to say? That he was in here coughing up blue petals because he had fallen in love with his best friend? His best friend who happened to be in a long term relationship? Keith hated himself more than he ever had before. 

“Stomach's just a bit upset,” He answered, flushing the toilet and all of the incriminating petals. “I think I should just go home.” 

The door handle jingled and Keith thanked his lucky stars that he had remembered to lock it in his haste. He couldn't bare to see Lance’s face. He already knew how it would look, twisted with concern that he didn't deserve. 

“If you're not feeling well you should stay,” The door handle jingled again. “You know you always have a place here. And you shouldn't drive if you're sick.” 

“I, uh, don't want to pass it on to you.” Keith replied, finally pushing off the floor. He braced his hands on the counter and looked at his reflection. He looked haggard. “Thanks for the offer though.” 

With a deep breath Keith finally opened the door. He could feel his breath rush out of him at how close Lance was, worry written into every line on his face. His blue eyes looked Keith over, trying to determine what was wrong. Of course he heard the fact that there was something else in Keith's voice. He knew Keith like the back of his hand, nothing could get past him. 

At the sight of Lance’s downturned lips, Keith felt the overwhelming urge to cough again. He clamped a hand hard over his mouth, doubling over and trying with all his might not to slam the door in Lance's face. He could never know. 

Lance crouched down in front of Keith and it was all Keith could do to not die right then and there. It would come eventually, of course. Unrequited love was a disease. It was typically called Hanahaki, which Keith thought was too beautiful of a name for something so tragic. Once inflicted there were only two options: have all of your memories of your loved one removed or, well, succumb to the disease. In the end, most people let the disease kill them. They couldn't bare the idea of forgetting the person they loved most. The whole thing was tragically beautiful. 

Technically there was a third option, but it only happened in rare, rare instances. If someone could make the object of their unrequited love return their feelings, the disease was cured. But logic said that they would have fallen in love with you already if they were going to fall in love at all, so that outcome was more of a myth than anything else. 

In short, Keith was doomed. He had to choose between forgetting Lance entirely or death and neither option sounded good. Of course he didn't  _ want _ to die, but he could easily see why most people choose that option. The idea of life without Lance was unbearable at best, and more painful than death at worst. 

“I'll be fine. I just need to get home and lay down,” Keith choked out once he felt like he could take an entire breath without coughing. 

“No,” Lance stood then, gripping Keith by the shoulders and forcing him to stand up too. “I'm hiding your car keys, you're not going anywhere.”

“Lance, I—” Keith started but Lance cut him off with a gentle thumb stroke across his cheek. 

Lance was close— simultaneously too close and not close enough. Opposite desires warred inside Keith. Should be push Lance away or end his suffering and pull him down into a kiss? Paralyzed by this, Keith stood still and let Lance trail his fingers down his neck and back to his shoulder. A burning sensation trailed in the wake of Lance's fingers. 

“I'm not negotiating with you, Keith. You're staying the night here. If not for you, do it for me. I don't want to be alone.” Lance calmly tugged Keith forward, shifting so he was standing behind Keith with his hands still firmly gripping his shoulders. He steered Keith as they walked, guiding him to the couch in the living room. 

With a resigned sigh, Keith plopped onto the couch. Just like Lance could hear it in Keith's voice, Keith could hear the undertone of something unspoken in Lance's voice. Normally he would press for information but Lance didn't seem to want to talk and for once, Keith didn't want to hear it. He couldn't handle it. 

Lance dropped onto the couch next to him, their knees bumping. Maybe his death would come sooner than expected, Keith thought wryly. For the first time, he realized that Lance was, quite literally, going to be the death of him. 

“Are you hungry? I'm starving, but I know your stomach is upset.” The tone of Lance's voice was so soft. Keith turned his head away. 

Lance nudged him gently with his knee. Keith withheld a sigh. “I could go for something light.” 

“Great, I'll order the usual.” Lance jumped off the couch and headed into the kitchen, no doubt rummaging through the fridge to see if they had enough drinks or if he needed to order those, too. 

The fact that they even had a usual made Keith feel like vomiting. Vaguely he wondered if he'd vomit petals, too. It was so obvious, looking back at it. Of course he was bound to fall in love with Lance. They had spent too many late nights together, laying on the floor with their legs propped up on the wall, sharing their deepest secrets. They had picked each other up too many times. They were too ingrained in each other for it to have ended any other way. 

Keith couldn't imagine anyone else being this much a part of his soul. 

“Chinese is on the way. And I ordered you a ginger ale.” Lance reappeared, setting two glasses in front of them. “This will do until then.”

“I don't like ginger ale,” Keith protested weakly. 

“I know,” Lance brushed a piece of hair out of his face like a doting mother. “But it's good for upset stomachs and I want you to feel better.”

Except, he couldn't feel better, not really. The disease would progress until he was left incapable of functioning— it would devour him from the inside out. And the truth, the whole truth that he had been trying to avoid, was that the memory removal didn't always work. Or rather, it worked, but it didn't matter, because they found their way back and fell in love all over again. 

Keith could imagine that being his life with no difficulty. He could imagine running into Lance on the street and immediately being captivated by his eyes. He could imagine needing to know more about him and falling a little bit harder with every word. It was so easy for him to see himself swooning over Lance's laugh, tripping over himself to hear it again. He could picture it… because it had already happened. He knew he would fall in love with Lance again, over and over, until it was too late. 

Lance would try to keep his distance, of course. He would do what he could to stop Keith from suffering, but there was only so much he could do. From the very bottom of his heart, Keith believed that he and Lance would be thrown together continuously until it was finally over. It was just a shame that it had to end in his death. 

“Lance, really, I should just—” He leaned forward to rise, but Lance put a firm hand on his shoulder, holding him in place. 

The worst thing about the disease was that it was worse when you were apart from the person you loved. When he was on his own, Keith was coughing up petals a couple of times an hour. But with Lance? He coughed maybe twice in the entire day. But being with Lance also killed him faster because he fell further and further in love with every touch, laugh and gaze. 

“Just stop, okay? You're not leaving.” Lance's gaze and tone were both firm, leaving no room for argument. 

Realistically there was no reason for Keith to avoid Lance. He suffered less from the disease when they were together and he hated himself either way. But being around Lance meant that he had to see Lance with his girlfriend. It meant suppressing all of the thoughts of how badly he wished it was him. 

He wanted to be the one in Lance's lap, pressing him into the back out the couch as they kissed. He wanted to be the one asleep on Lance's chest, relaxed by his gentle fingers trailing along his spine. He already knew every inch of Lance's soul, but now he wanted to know every inch of his skin. He wanted to hold Lance's hand in public, and to lay his head on Lance's shoulder as they laughed together. He wanted Lance, in every way, forever. 

“Man,” Lance remarked suddenly, drawing Keith’s attention back. Keith tried not to jump out of his skin at the sudden sound of his voice. “You really must not be feeling well, you’re pale.”

Keith cleared his throat but he knew he was paling further at being caught down such a dangerous line of thought. “Yeah, I told you.”

Silence lapsed for a moment then and Keith turned back to the TV, desperate for a chance to get his mind back under control. The dangerous thing wasn’t his closeness to Lance— it was his brain’s train of thought. Once it got derailed, he often found it incredibly hard to get it back on track. And the further down the rabbit hole his mind went, the more flowers he coughed up.

And he absolutely could not risk coughing up any more flowers. Not tonight. Not while he was, apparently, staying at Lance’s for the whole night.

And judging by the look on Lance’s face— torn up and hesitant— they weren’t about to get any real sleep tonight.

Finally the silence started to wear on Keith and he needed to do something about it, so he turned back to Lance, not particularly surprised to find that Lance was already staring at him. Because he was sick. And Lance was worried. Because Lance was always staring at him, it seeed, and Keith had stopped himself from wondering why months ago because it was just another thing on the ever growing list of things that he couldn’t handle.

“So are you going to tell me what’s up?” Keith asked, his voice a hollow whisper in the room, nearly drowned out by the droning of the TV.

But Lance heard him. Because Lance always heard him. Because he was Lance and Keith was Keith and somehow they always heard each other, always found each other, always completed each other. Lance heard him because the idea of Lance  _ not _ hearing him was just as unbelievable as the idea of Keith  _ not _ being in love with Lance. Lance heard him because he was Lance and hearing Keith always, in every circumstance, was what he did.

Still, Lance averted his gaze. “Nothing’s up.”

Keith opened his mouth to say something, to insist that he was here for Lance if he needed him. To tell Lance that whatever it was, it would be okay. They would get through it together. To assure Lance that no matter what, Keith would be there, by his side, slowly wilting away like the flowers in his lungs. Not that Lance needed to know that. 

Either way, he was interrupted before he had a chance to say anything. 

“That’s the chinese!” Lance cried, scrambling out of his seat the moment he heard the first knock on the door and clearly dodging the conversation they were supposed to be having.

Keith sighed and reclined into the couch a little further, crossing his arms over his stomach because he  _ did _ feel a little nauseous— coughing up flowers really hit the stomach hard. Lance laughed loudly in the entryway and Keith’s already upset stomach flipped in place and made him feel off-kilter. And then, just as he was getting uncomfortable, Lance returned with his arms stacked with different containers of food.

Without standing, Keith helped Lance unload his arms and instead load up the coffee table in front of the house. Lance had ordered so much food that the coffee table was barely visible underneath it all, but that was normal for them. They never ate it all— they probably never could— and they both knew that. But still, they both liked a little bit of everything and so that’s what they got— everything. 

Lance immediately began opening boxes, tossing a pair of chopsticks into Keith’s lap and snapping his own in half. Keith picked his up but didn’t dig in right away, instead amusing himself by watching Lance struggle through a decision of what he wanted to start with. His hands hovered just over the table, moving slightly to hang in the air just above a few different containers as he worked his way through the thought process. It was stupidly endearing to Keith who realized, once again, that he never had any hope of  _ not _ falling in love with Lance.

How was he supposed to know Lance and not love him? How was he supposed to watch Lance put on ridiculous face masks and sing into his hairbrush in the mirror and come out the other side unscathed? How was he supposed to be the one there with Lance on the bathroom floor, rubbing his back and laughing at his drunken ramblings and not get his heart involved? How was he supposed to see him nearly every day— to learn the way he likes his coffee, to recognize the different hand gestures he made, to be able to follow his train of thought no matter how ridiculous it might be— and end up  _ not _ in love?

Frankly, it just wasn’t possible.

Finally Lance settled on beef and broccoli, picking up the carton and falling back onto the couch, so close that his shoulder brushed Keith’s. Keith reached forward and picked up the container of orange chicken now that it was safe for him to make a decision without risking ruining Lance’s thought process and leaned back, too, shifting to his side slightly so he could look at Lance. 

Lance shifted, too, and then they were looking at each other while they ate, their faces only a few inches apart. It was quiet but it was comfortable and Keith knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he could spend the rest of his days like this and be content. The absolute only thing he would have a problem with is that he wouldn’t have enough days like this— he could  _ never _ have enough days like this.

“Swipe!” Lance cried suddenly, plunging his chopsticks into the container Keith was holding and snagging an orange chicken out of it, popping it in his mouth triumphantly. But not before missing his mouth first— too busy gloating, of course— and smearing some of the sauce across his cheek.

With a fond shake of the head and a quiet laugh under his breath, Keith reached up and swiped his thumb across Lance’s cheek, cleaning off the sauce. And then he was just sitting there, hand cupping Lance’s cheek, thumb pressed to the corner of his mouth, staring into his stupidly blue eyes. Stupidly _gorgeous_ blue eyes. Stupidly _gorgeous and piercing_ blue eyes. 

And then Lance was pulling away suddenly, throwing his carton of food on the table and doubling over into his own lap, coughing his lungs out. Keith tossed his own carton onto the table and slid over, slapping a hand across Lance’s back.

“Shit, Lance, are you okay?” He asked, leaning forward to try and get a glimpse at Lance’s face. “Are you choking on your food?”

But Lance wasn’t choking on his food and that became apparent as soon as Keith ducked forward. Because there, scattered in Lance’s lap, was an array of red petals.

The world seemed to freeze around Keith and he was absolutely uncertain of what to do. His hand stilled on Lance’s back and his eyes were fixed on the petals. He didn’t even notice that Lance had stopped coughing. He didn’t notice anything until Lance was scooping up the petals and trying to hide them in his fists.

“Shit,” Lance cursed under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut and bowing his head even further. “Shit, shit,  _ shit _ .”

“Lance?” Keith tried, finding this his voice barely existed at all. 

But still, Lance heard him.

“Did you know,” Lance replied, and he sounded broken. He sounded like his soul was in shards inside of him, cutting him into bits. “That Allura broke up with me?”

Keith blinked, trying not to get whiplash from the sudden information. “No, I didn’t.” He tried to meet Lance’s eyes, but Lance wouldn’t look at him. “I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t know what.”

He wanted to press the issue at hand— he had so many  _ questions _ — but Lance was looking ragged and that took precedence. Because Lance mattered most. So Keith’s nagging questions about who he  _ really _ loved and how they could be idiotic enough to not love him too took a back seat.

“Yeah it turns out she, uh— she isn’t cool with…  _ this _ .” Lance opened his hand to show the flower petals again and Keith couldn’t stop his eyes from darting back down to them. “Unreasonable of her, right?”

“Yeah,” Keith tried to laugh but it was more of a bitter bark of a laugh than anything genuine. “Totally unreasonable of her.”

The question that Keith wanted to ask most hung between them, heavy and unspoken in the air. It loomed over them, weighing them down as they continued to sit in silence. Both of them were transfixed by the petals, their eyes glued to them and Keith wondered where they were supposed to go from here.

To say his heart was shattering in his chest was an understatement. Perhaps the biggest understatement of the year. Because he was  _ in love _ with Lance. In love with him in every cliche way, in every cheesy, over dramatic way. He was in love with Lance and Lance was still in love with someone else. But this time, the object of his affection didn’t love him back. This time, Lance was in love with someone dumb enough to not realize that everything they could have ever wanted was right in front of them. 

Why did they get what Keith so desperately longed for?

In an attempt to break the silence, Keith took a deep breath. “Is there anything I can do?” He asked, “Do you want to talk—”

“It’s you,” Lance said abruptly, looking terrified at his own words. 

“It’s— what?”” Keith repeated dumbly. “What’s me?”

And then Lance was exploding, the emotions running across his face in quick succession. He was looking at Keith then, his stupidly gorgeous and piercing blue eyes wild and vulnerable. “It’s  _ you _ , Keith. The petals, they’re for you.” Lance held his open hand out between them, the red petals stark against his tan skin. They looked silky, but Keith couldn’t care any less. He couldn’t look anywhere other than at Lance’s blue eyes. “I’ve been coughing up these damn things for months and I know it’s not worth it, I know you don’t—”

Whatever shred of self control that Keith had been trying to hang onto snapped and he muffled the end of Lance’s rant with a kiss. Lance stilled against him for only the briefest of moments before he was kissing back fervently, his lips soft and pliable under Keiths.

_ Holy shit _ . Is this what it’s like to kiss the person you’ve been madly in love with for god-knows-how-long? Is this what  _ heaven _ is like? It must be. Or maybe it’s better than heaven.

They part after a moment and Lance’s stupidly gorgeous and piercing blue eyes are staring back at him and Keith realizes in that moment that they are the  _ exact _ shade of blue as the petals he’d been coughing up. He almost wanted to laugh.

“Earlier, in the bathroom,” He began and Lance was clearly enraptured by what he was saying, hanging on his every word. “I wasn’t actually sick to my stomach. I was coughing up these ridiculous blue petals. Because I happen to be in love with my ridiculous best friend.”

Part of Keith expected Lance to question him, to ask who he was talking about. It wasn’t that Lance wasn’t smart, it was just that Lance liked to have things spelled out for him. Lance also  _ loved _ to try and make Keith talk about his feelings. So Keith was surprised when Lance’s only response was to smile and trail his fingertips gently across his lips, a wistful expression on his face as if he simply couldn’t believe that this had happened.

To be fair, Keith couldn’t believe it either. 

“Wait,” Lance seemed to suddenly snap back to attention, his wistful smile turning more into a grin. “You said you’ve been coughing up blue flowers?”

“Yeah,” Keith agreed, “And I don’t really know how that works since it's apparently not unrequited. Unless you just lied to me—?”

But instead of answering, Lance dissolved into laughter, falling back onto the couch again and clutching his stomach. “Oh my god,” he choked out between laughs. “ _ Oh my god. _ ”

Keith wasn’t sure whether to feel good or bad about the laughter, but Lance looked utterly delighted at something and he had to believe it was good. Because the only other option was that Lance had tricked him and drawn his secret out, that Lance was now celebrating at exposing Keith’s feelings and he would never do that. 

“About a month ago,” Lance finally started to explain, wiping at the tears in his eyes as he took a few deep breaths to get himself back under control. “You were over here for movie night and Allura showed up. Do you remember that night?”

Keith did. Vividly. In his nightmares, mostly. Allura had showed up uninvited, shoved herself between the two of them on the couch and then thrown herself all over Lance. Keith had always liked Allura— still did, honestly— and had never minded her crashing their movie nights. She had a standing invitation to anything they did and a key to Lance’s apartment. Usually it was a nice reprieve— usually it kept his mind and his actions in check. 

But something about that day had just bothered him. Maybe it was because Lance’s eyes were particularly blue because he was wearing that navy crew neck sweater Keith loved. Maybe it was because Lance had been sort of sleepy— the cute kind of cuddly sleepy that caused him to lean closer to Keith and doze off on his shoulder. Keith couldn’t say exactly what it was, but it had been physically painful for him when Allura had arrived and been given everything he’d been spending the evening dreaming about. She was able to lean in and kiss Lance at will, to twine their hands together. Envious wasn’t a strong enough word for how Keith felt. 

“Of course I do.” Keith hoped he didn’t sound too bitter. 

“Well, that night after you both left, I was cleaning up and I found a few blue flower petals under the couch.” Keith paled. He could physically feel the blood leaving his face as Lance talked. 

At one point Lance had gotten up to go into the other room and Allura had trailed after him to help carry back their drinks. It had taken everything in Keith to be able to hold off his coughs until the room was empty and he’d just barely made it. The petals had come freely, spilling into his lap and onto the floor. Keith had scrambled, gathering them together and just barely managing to shove them in his pocket before Lance and Allura returned. Keith had thought he’d gotten all the petals but he had, apparently, been wrong. 

“I thought they were from Allura,” Lance pressed on. “I thought she had coughed them up because she loved me and I loved, well, you.”

“You—“ And then Keith was laughing too. “You had literal proof of my feelings in your hand and you didn’t know?”

“How was I supposed to know, Keith?” Lance shoved him playfully. “I was coughing up flowers! And I knew it was you I was in love with! So I had every reason to assume it  _ wasn’t  _ you!”

Keith’s laughter was dying down but the idiocy of the situation still made him smile. “So, what, then? We were both just convinced the other one didn’t feel the same and developed the disease?”

“I don’t know how it works Keith! I’m not a doctor!” Lance threw his arms in the air. And it was true, neither of them could explain what had happened. Not that it really mattered, anyways. “The only thing I know,” Lance pulled Keith back to his side. “Is that you need to kiss me again.”

Keith was more than willing to oblige. And as their lips met again, their fingers tangling in each other’s hair, in their clothes, Keith couldn’t help but throw a thank you up to whatever higher power there was. Because he didn’t understand how they’d both been coughing flowers, how they’d both been dumb enough to not see what was right in front of them. He didn’t know how it had taken them this long to figure it out. 

And then Lance was pressing into him, sliding into his lap and none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered— the only thing that had  _ ever  _ mattered to Keith— was Lance. And finally, finally,  _ finally _ Lance was his. 

The garden he’d been growing in his lungs wilted, shriveled and died. But the love inside of him grew and bloomed, filling every corner of his being, and it was far more beautiful than the flowers ever could have been. 


End file.
